


Real Smooth

by ButtTouchBrigade



Series: Melissa Shepard [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, LMAO, how i imagine my shepard, this is actually, to have started taking an interest in samantha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4212888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButtTouchBrigade/pseuds/ButtTouchBrigade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fuck me," Shepard mumbled. </p><p>"Gladly," she thought. </p><p>When the room goes silent, she wonders why. Wait.. She hadn't said that out loud, had she?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real Smooth

**Author's Note:**

> TBH there needs so much more Samantha/Shepard works 
> 
> LIKE SO MUCH MORE 
> 
> Because honestly it is one of the best romances imo
> 
> Nerdy, awkward Samantha. Unf. (Also because toothbrush girl). 
> 
> OK now that my rant is over, there is obviously going to be a full work of my Shepard's life, choices, and reprercussions, but since I am so LAZY and also am writing a lot of fics, I'm just going to quickly describe my fem!Shep to y'all. 
> 
> Melissa is just... really straight forward. 100% renegade. Bad with emotions, and bad with people. She's bisexual, although she prefers women. 
> 
> Yeah that's about all you need to know HAH.

News spread _very_ quickly around the Normandy.

 

So when she started stammering and blushing around the Commander, practically everyone knew of her crush by the second week they were in flight.

 

People would make offhanded comments when they saw her report to Shepard, or about how good Shepard looked since her last mission, or the new scars the Commander had gathered on her mission.

 

Once, Shepard had come back unconscious, carried in by Major Alenko, and people had asked _her_ how she felt.

 

Honestly, it didn’t bother her much. The Commander hadn’t taken notice of her small infatuation with her. In fact, she kept the same straight, impassable face as she did with anyone else when talking to her.

 

Some of the crew members had even started calling her “emotionally incapacitated” because of how serious she was all the time. Getting the news of Eden Prime – straight faced it. Talking about what it felt like to wake up after dying – straight faced it. Talking about her companions’ deaths – straight faced that too.

 

Either way, her crush on the Commander was not unknown, but it was most definitely not shown off. 

 

It was the usual time for most of the crewmembers to eat their dinner. The chef had found a use for EDI, at least, using her as a dinner bell. When the announcement came, Specialist Traynor did not think her dinner would be any different from the other ones.

 

Boy, was she wrong.

 

When she made her way down with the elevator, a few other of her crew mates with her, she noticed that something was amuck with the eating area.

 

Yes, something was definitely different.

 

And she spotted it immediately. The Commander was leaning against the kitchen counter, a plate in one hand, a fork in the other. She was eating. With the crew. If there was one thing the people aboard the Normandy had found out, it was that Commander Shepard did not socialize. She spoke to the crew, asked them how their lives were going and if she had to worry about their families, but she didn’t talk to them more than she had to. Most of her co-workers chalked it up to war – she couldn’t be attached to disposable people.

 

But Samantha and some other members of the crew didn’t want to, and frankly, couldn’t believe that. They simply thought that the Commander was bad with emotional business, and since many of the crew members were still in mourning, Shepard would be a terrible person to talk to. Even if James Vega took a punch to the face as a good pep-talk, most of her co-workers didn’t.

 

Traynor watched as the Commander slipped the fork into her mouth, past those luscious lips, and Traynor knew this whole dinner was going to be a bad time for her.

 

When she and the two companions she always ate with had their portions served to them, they went to sit down at one of the tables. Ignoring the Commander’s presence would have to cut it, she thought, before she made a fool of herself. She wasn’t scared of the Commander approaching them – that is, because Shepard would definitely not do that. She would perhaps ask them if the food was alright, though, so Samantha started reciting possible answers in her head. You could never be too prepared.

 

How was she going to handle it if Shepard started talking to them?

 

Thankfully, the Commander remained leaning against the kitchen counter, watching her crew eat. Samantha could deal with the distance. Hell, she could deal with sitting at her station while the Commander studied the galactic map. She could do with this.

 

Although, she thought, glancing at Shepard once more, seeing the Commander this casual hit her hard. She often forgot that she was simply another woman. It was hard to think of her that way, when you heard that Shepard had died, come back to life, and then blown up a Collector base in the span of a year.

 

Traynor’s comfort in the common area died the moment Lieutenant James Vega stepped out of the elevator and called out to the Commander.

 

“Lola!” The woman’s icy blue gaze switched from the tables to the man.

 

“Vega,” she greeted, tipping her fork at her companion. James strut up to his commander, whistling and looking the woman up and down.

 

“These clothes suit you,” he said, and Samantha watched as a small smirk curled the Commander’s lips. That expression was only worn around her closest companions. None of the crew would get to banter like this with the Commander. Not if they valued their teeth, their nose, or their asses.

 

“Wanna say that again?” the Commander said simply, raising one shoulder in a shrug. The Lieutenant cleared his throat, tapping his chest with two fingers.

 

“I got some word from Cortez, the man says the shuttle won’t be fixed for at least a day. Too much damage from when it was hit by that Harvester.”

 

Shepard frowned, placing the plate down on the counter.

 

“You’re saying we’re going to have to use the HEM-22 for _at least a day_.”

 

James nodded, crossing his arms. “At least.”

 

“Fuck me,” the Commander mumbled as she filled a glass with water.

 

“Gladly,” Samantha thought, before shoving more food into her mouth to stop herself from thinking anything more inappropriate.

 

It wasn’t until the whole common area went silent that Traynor looked up from her meal. She glanced around, finding that the people around her were staring straight at her. Her gaze involuntarily snapped to the Commander, who was eyeing her from behind a cup, her eyes slightly widened.

 

“What?” she asked, before Lint, one of her co-workers, slapped her on the arm.

 

“You just said ‘gladly’ to the Commander. After she said ‘fuck me’. Did you not realise?”

 

She could feel heat spreading through her cheeks and down her neck like wildfire. But she couldn’t look away – not when the Commander’s gaze was fixed on hers. She’d never seen Shepard show any type of emotion, so surprise almost looked out of character. By this point, however, she didn’t care. She’d just blown any chance she’d had.

 

“I suggest, Specialist Traynor,” the Commander started, a sly smile tugging at her lips as she put her cup down on the counter. “That you keep that kind of talk for the bedroom.”

 

“Yes, Ma’am,” she replied sheepishly, her hand unconsciously moving to the back of her neck, rubbing away the tension she knew would never leave. Especially not after a fuck-up like that.

 

The Commander nodded, the smile leaving and her expression returning to its ever-stoic state. She nodded her goodbyes to the crew, before turning to James.

 

“Vega, tell Cortez I want that fucking shuttle fixed as soon as possible. I’ve done my fair share of travelling in storage compartments, I don’t want it repeated.”

 

“Sure thing, Lola.”

 

Traynor didn’t understand – couldn’t understand how Vega was so casual with her. The little flirts, the offhanded compliments and, hell, even the nickname. Most of the crewmembers couldn’t go about calling the woman “Shepard” without getting told off.

 

_That’s ‘Commander’ to you._

 

And yet here the Lieutenant was, calling her “Lola” of all things. The woman had died and come back to life. She had ripped a reaper to shreds and blown up a Collector base. Surely, she deserved a nickname worthy of that. Something like Astrid.

 

She snapped out of it when the Lieutenant turned to face her.

 

“Surprised the Commander didn’t punch you in the guts,” he mused, tapping his chin with one stubby finger. “Maybe she’s taken a liking to you.”

 

If she wasn’t already blushing, she knew she would be even more by now. The man had a way to make her feel as uncomfortable as possible when it concerned their beloved Commander.

 

“What do you mean?” she asked, trying to make her voice sound as level as possible. James chuckled, splaying both his hands on the table she was eating at.

 

“I mean that, last time someone made an offhand comment like that about her, he ended up with three less teeth,” the man explained, a small smirk quirking his mouth. “She doesn’t take kindly to people viewing her sexually, see.”

 

Samantha spared a glance at the man’s tattooed arms. “She doesn’t seem to mind you being an incessant pervert.”

 

He laughed, throwing his head back and exposing another tattoo on his neck. Was the man completely covered in them? “Lola and I have a different type of relationship. We both know we mean nothing by the compliments and shameless flirt.” He paused, pushing himself away from the table. “That’s what makes it fun. But you,” he pointed at her, “you don’t have that sort of a privilege. And yet here you are, in one piece, and Shepard let you walk away. I’d say she’s interested, if I didn’t know any better.”

 

A few people around the table chuckled, and she knew she was _never_ going to live this down. With a groan, she dropped her head, resting her forehead against the table’s cool surface in the hopes that the man would just walk away and leave her alone.

 

And he did, but not without laughing.

 

So she cursed him, repeatedly, coming up with new titles for him apart from Lieutenant. The Bringer of Shame. The Prophet of Embarrassment. The Embodiment of Pain. Those were all appropriate nicknames – more appropriate than Lola was for the Commander.

 

She glanced at the med bay, where the Commander was conversing with the doctor. She watched the woman lean her weight on one leg, her arms crossed, before those blue eyes swept the common room and found hers.

 

A small smile was all she needed. A small smile. Only one. A hint that she hadn’t completely ruined her chances with the Commander.

 

Instead, Shepard simply held her gaze, her expression remaining the same, usual serious.

 

Samantha was about to look away in shame when the slightest movement made her practically stand up and knock her tray off the table.

 

The Commander had _winked_.

 

Melissa Shepard, the most emotionally constipated person on the ship, had _winked_ , at _her,_ after she’d completely embarrassed herself by agreeing to-

  

She could feel the familiar heat of a blush creep up her cheeks again, before she smiled bashfully at the Commander, who simply turned her attention back to the doctor.

 

She wasn’t sure what it meant, but she was fairly certain that she hadn’t screwed up as badly as she thought she had.

 

And it felt good.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank youuu for reading and expect more Samantha/Melissa works because Mass Effect has owned my heart for a long time, and I have so many WIP's about Melissa, but I just was never confident enough to publish them;;


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